Giantslayer
by polarhead
Summary: When a giant attacks Rorikstead, a simple farm boy must defend his village. What happens after, when word of his actions spread across Skyrim? (Rating may change in future).
1. Rorikstead

**AN: Hehe... just hoping to get better at writing. :)**

 **In this story, the towns aren't scaled at game size (they are much bigger). And I don't own Elder Scrolls, just my original characters.**

* * *

It truly spoke of Rorikstead's reputation as a peaceful little hamlet when young men such as Leifr Skovgaard could be bored amidst a deadly civil war. Not that Leifr had seen many battles while tending to his father's farm – it almost seemed as if Rorikstead was enveloped in its own safe little bubble, unaware of the goings and leavings of the rest of Skyrim. Even the recent talk of the Dragonborn only managed to stir up a few days' worth of gossip before it was business as usual.

No, all he had seen was the dirt he was forced to toil in day after day after day. Sometimes, if he was especially bored he could see the worn handle of his hoe transform into a spear. No longer was he dressed in a simple belted tunic, but in the finest of furs and leather armour. The farm turned into a battlefield, with potato bandits and wheelbarrow catapults. He'd always feel embarrassed to have been playing war like a child afterwards, but the sheer monotony of his everyday routine always managed to win over his shame.

His father's thin voice called out presently, breaking through Leifr's thoughts.  
"Having a nice break now, are we?"  
"… I was just to start working again, father."  
Disoriented from having his day dream interrupted, Leifr clumsily resumed digging into the soil. A few moments of silence passed by before his father spoke once more, this time with a bit more bite in his tongue.  
"So! What was it this time? Bandits? Dragons?"

Leifr flushed before mumbling out a curt, "Just potatoes."  
"Hah! Now that's something I haven't heard from you." He sniffed before continuing. "Leifr. You're of age now – a man. I know you might not want to hear it, but you have got to learn how to grow up. Ysmr's beard, I'm not going to be around forever. Who's going to take care of your mother when I'm gone? The farm? You know-"  
"I know, I know father. You inherited the farm from your father and he inherited it from his father before him. And you won't see me lose it."

"… Hmmph." Then with a sigh, the old man's frame deflated, like a sail with the wind taken out before it. His eyes seemed to soften as did his voice. "You've been a good son to me, Leifr. I know how you must feel – believe me, I was itching for adventure just as you are now once – but Sun's Dusk is soon upon us. I need you here, not out fighting in some godforsaken… be patient for one more year. With any luck," he grunted with exertion, "the dragons and the damned war might be gone by then as well." With that, he left his son alone as he moved up a row.

Leifr sulked for a while, though he had known his father's verdict was coming. It wasn't fair! All the other men his age had gone to fight in Ulfric Stormcloak's civil war. Even Erik, who was as green as a freshly plucked leek, had had his father buy armour for him all the way down at Whiterun. If he closed his eyes, he could still see his friend marching proudly back to the village, looking for all the world another mercenary eager to wet his sword.

Meanwhile, Leifr was nearing two decades and he hadn't stepped a foot outside of Rorikstead save for the few trading trips his family took annually. He wiped his brow before digging out another hole to plant their potatoes in. The dirt surprisingly actually helped his somewhat average looks; it gave him the same mystery a locked chest held – the hope that something worthwhile lay underneath. He stood about the average Nord's height, with shoulder-length dirty blonde hair tied into messy braids. A lifetime's of farming had gifted him with a stout body though it came at the cost of a slightly hunched back – something his mother had been trying to get him to remedy through various exercises.

"Where's your mother anyways? The wind's getting colder, and we need these in the ground before it freezes."  
Leifr wet his lips before answering. "Over at Lemkil's. Said she wanted to ask him about borrowing some of his fertilizer."  
"Bah, she shouldn't have bothered. Ever since I lost his spade he's been a stingy bastard."

Leifr shrugged. Personally, he thought that she had gone over to spend some time with the widower's children, Sissel and Britte. Ever since he had grown up, he suspected that she missed something about having a child around. Besides, she had always wanted a daughter – not that his father would oblige her. One child, he had said, was fine. Besides, the gods had seen fit to gift them with a son. What more could she possibly want?

Personally, Leifr thought that having a sister around wouldn't have been as bad as his father had put it. He quite enjoyed Sissel's company – though her sister, Britte, was a bit of a brat – so yes, if he had had a sister like Sissel, he would see no reason for complaint. Having an extra mouth to feed wasn't a problem, with Rorikstead's fertile soils and the aforementioned peace stove off any worry about bandits or the war sweeping through the village. Though dragons still remained a problem, so far they had heard of only two attacks – one on Helgen and one at Whiterun.

The sun was dipping low into the horizon and both men had finished planting for the day when it happened. Distant shouting quickly caught their attentions, though the two expressions were entirely different. Thoughts of bandits, Stormcloaks, and more lit up Leifr's face as he ran to greet the figure sprinting towards their farm. It was then he could feel the ground rumble… and see the terrified face of Lemkil come shouting into view, red-faced and hysterical.

"Giant! T-there's a giant coming! I-I tri-"  
With a roar, Leifr's father straightened up with a speed of a man half his age. "Shor's bones! Are you sure about this?" The question answered itself with Lemkil's help soon thereafter. Due to Rorikstead's flat landscape, they could soon see an enormous figure silhouetted by the dying sun come striding towards them – a giant. And if that didn't convince them, the sound of the giant's footsteps did – each thud was like a war-drum signalling the village's doom.

"Lemkil! Igne, Sissel, Britte – where?" His father staggered forwards, a disbelieving look in his eyes.

"I… I did not see them as I ran... b-but no one could miss that… that thing! Oh gods, it's going to destroy my land! I am ruined!" He wrung his hands. "All these years of hard work – for nothing! Why me? Why now?"

Leifr's father gaped at him before grasping at his shirt. "Have you no loyalty against your own kin, you rat? My wife, your daughters – if they're in that house, they are dead! To oblivion with your farm! Is your heart stone, man?"  
Lemkil only groaned in response, after which he let go of his shirt. He began sprinting towards the farm before calling over his shoulder, "Leifr, call the guards, dammit!"

With a start, Leifr struggled to unlock his legs before he started for the inn. Had this really happened? A giant, attacking Rorikstead? It seemed impossible, something out of the books his mother used to read him. But no, the guttural roars he now heard and the visceral fear he now felt were all too real – something the books had never quite managed to capture. "H-help! Guards! Guards!" He hammered on the inn door before Mralki the innkeeper opened it.

"Wha- Leifr? What's going on? I heard a terrible roar outside – it can't be dragons, can it? I know Whiterun was attacked a while ago but-"

"No, it's a giant! Where are the guards?" Emboldened by the frustration he felt at the innkeeper's blathering, Leifr ran inside the inn. The scene inside only served to up his anger. It seemed as if the guards had opened up a case of Honningbrew Mead recently and were only now clumsily putting on their armour. With an oath, Leifr ran out again amidst Mralki's shouts of alarm.

The scenario he found himself in seemed hopeless. The only guards that remained in the small hamlet were drunkards and fat, too accustomed to having to chase off nothing but other drunkards and the occasional wolf. His father was old, too slow to reach the farm in time and certainly not strong enough to stave off a giant by himself. By now, the other villagers had been alerted to the danger but none seemed to be heading towards the giant…

Leifr gulped before he ran down the steps, only to be stopped by Mralki's hand. "What are you doing? That thing will surely kill you! Do you not see the size of its club?"  
"Let go of me! My father, my mother, Sissel and Britte – they're all in there!"  
"And do you think your father would want to see his son killed?" Unrelenting under Leifr's fierce stare, the innkeeper continued. "Stay here Leifr. Let the guards take care of this one."  
"Have you seen them inside? They couldn't kill a brood sow! They're drunk!"  
Mralki sighed.  
"Now, let go of me!"

"…At least take this with you." He disappeared into his inn before reappearing with an iron sword, which he slid into Leifr's hand before shrugging. "It's not going to do you a lot of good, but it's better than a rake. The Nine preserve you." With that, he slunk back into his inn and locked the door. Leifr weighed the weapon in his hands. It was weather beaten and worn, but un-rusted and with a sharp point. _'No time to think,'_ he began to sprint towards Lemkil's farm, _'this will have to do.'_


	2. Farm Attack

_Skyrim! It has existed since the creation of the world. And Skyrim has always had giants. That is the truth. I have studied these lumbering creatures and watched them tend their mammoths. They are peaceful, simple beings. Not all have given in to their battlelust. Not all have given in to the need to explore that drives every Nord I have ever known._

 _Giants and Nords continue to vie for some of the same territories. Future conflict is inevitable unless we take steps to find peaceful solutions. Giants fall, and Nords die, but I have never seen a giant eat a Nord._

 _\- Kord the Curious, Giants: A Discourse_

* * *

Madness. Absolute madness.

As Leifr ran towards the farm, it became clear to him just how inadequately he had planned things through. He, a simple farm boy, take on a giant? It had seemed all so simple back at the inn. Now? It was beyond laughable and yet Leifr found his legs pumping forward to take yet another stride; going against all hope and natural instincts of his human nature.

The ground shook the closer he came to the farm and Leifr found himself losing his balance every now and then. He was thankful that he did not fall - for if he had, he was sure that the fear coursing through his body would have locked up his legs forevermore. It was momentum from his earlier courage that was carrying him forwards now - momentum that was rapidly fading with every tremor underneath his feet. As the giant came into view, Leifr realized that he hadn't even come up with a plan to deal with the beast. The only thing he could do now was to pray to the Gods for luck; Leifr would know of their favour in a minute or so.

He skidded to a stop near Lemkil's house - what was left of it, anyway. Up close, the giant seemed to have grown even larger. Splinters of wood brushed past Leifr's face as the remains of the roof were smashed aside by the beast.

The giant hadn't noticed him yet which was fortunate for Leifr – he was too awestruck by the monster to fully react to anything. Standing about the height of three strong men, it stomped through Lemkil's crops with legs which befit a tree more than any humanoid. Thick, leathery skin covered it from head to toe and though many spiral scars decorated the beast, Leifr was sure that the blade that had done the scarification was not of the same make as his iron sword. He readjusted his sword in his sweaty grip, fully aware of how small the blade was. The giant mirrored Leifr and took a breath before leaning on the mass of log and bone that it used as a club. Its face was where most similarities between man and giant could be found – and yet the most differences be found as well.

Its wiry looking hair and beard were brushed back neatly and its facial structure and expression was not unlike that of the old bards that sometimes visited Rorikstead. It held great wisdom in the folds and wrinkles of its face and yet... Leifr had only seen its snarl on dogs and wolves. The giant's teeth were like great white stones grinding into each other and Leifr shuddered to think of its effect on humans.

However, it was the eyes that shattered any illusion of it being a merely large human – no, the eyes were decidedly alien in nature. The pure black irises were ringed by gold and it reminded Leifr of a horses save for the intelligence the giant so obviously held. No animal could hold the hate that the monster seemed to hold. No animal could make the noises the giants substituted for speech - their low moans and grunts were like a crude imitation of a person in pain.

Leifr shook his head, breaking his gaze on the creature. It seemed to be taking a break for now and if he couldn't kill the giant while it was standing still, then there was no chance for him to win anyway. His knees buckled as he tried to run out to face it. Leifr's heart was pounding a harsh and erratic beat against his throat, choking him as much as his fear. His face was flushed and hot while his arms felt clammy and rather distant - as if his own limbs were trying their best to run away from the situation.

"Think of mother, think of mother, think of mother..."

Letting out a strangled shout, Leifr ran foolishly at the giant head-on. It blinked, perhaps stunned by the Nord's recklessness, before swinging the club towards him. However, the split second of hesitation gave Leifr just enough time to dive in between its legs. He blinked out the dirt in his eyes.

"Kyne take you!" He swung the iron blade at a leathery leg -though it was more of a tree trunk than a leg- only to have the weapon jar painfully in his hand. To his dismay, the iron sword had left nothing but a thin scratch on the giant.

"Fuck!"

Leifr frantically rolled to the side, again barely dodging another one of the giants blows. The dirt stung his eyes and made them water. Fighting the giant, he realized, had been an incredibly bad idea. He covered his head and lunged for a nearby wheelbarrow, which he promptly ducked behind. The giant roared and pounded the ground nearby where Leifr had seemingly disappeared. Haystacks and dirt mounds were quickly demolished and Leifr cowered as the debris rained on his head.

With every thump he seemed to grow a little more deaf until the giant's rampage was replaced with a numbing ringing noise. It overwhelmed him, making him see static at times. Leifr crawled away slowly whenever the giant's back was turned - his mother, father, and neighbours all forgotten in the face of his body screaming for preservation of himself. He managed to find himself hiding in a ditch where he lay until the cracking of wood began to sound again.

Leifr poked his head out to see its intent back on destroying Lemkil's farm-house. As sturdy planks gave way to the giant's club, Leifr began to recall his original purpose. He spat on the ground before staggering back to his feet. Even now, both his parents and Lemkil's daughters were nowhere to be seen. The thought of them being crushed underneath the creature's foot powered him and he charged forwards with a fierce battle-cry.

Leifr stabbed forwards with enough force that his face slammed into the giant's leg. This time, the blade bit deep into its flesh causing it to roar and spin around rapidly. The iron sword was wrenched out of Leifr's hands and the sudden momentum caused him to be thrown off his feet.

The good thing was that the giant's attention was now pulled away from the farm-house. The bad thing was that the giant's rage was now focused towards himself. Although the blade was still embedded deep in the giant's ankle, it seemed to do little difference to its health. On the other hand, it actually seemed to increase its anger, something Leifr found out as the giant raised its mighty arm. "Oh-" he breathed out before the club came swinging sideways. Leifr was thrown like a rag doll, smashing into what remained of Lemkil's house.

It was like someone had turned him simultaneously deaf and blind. Leifr could do nothing - not even breathe. He didn't feel any pain - the impact had robbed him of all senses. Was this what death felt like, then? And if not, he thought wryly, he would know soon. After all, the giant was still alive and kicking. He had failed. A single clear thought rose from his jumbled mind - he would be able to see his family in Sovngarde.

He heard a shout, then felt a sudden blast of wind shoot over him before all was black.

"Hey. You alright?"

Drowning. He was drowning. His chest was burning and his lungs heaved for air desperately. Leifr struggled to move his arms, to breach the surface, but they were heavier than millstones. Kicking out wasn't much better - for all he knew, his legs had been cut off. At any rate, there was no feeling there besides the pain in his chest.

Eventually, as time went on Leifr began to feel the warmth returning to his limbs. It was then that he realized that someone was pouring a bitter liquid down his mouth, granting him the strength to move. Moreover, he realized that he was alive. He had survived. Selfish relief soared through his body and he felt himself grow limp in the wreckage.

Leifr's elation soon disappeared as the comfortable numbness gave way to searing pain. "Tssschpcchh!" He spit out the potion, red staining his mouth as he struggled for breath. His chest heaved and his limbs twitched madly as he gasped like a fish.

"It's over. It's over. You're safe now, brother. Try to relax."

Leifr blinked. Once, twice. A figure appeared, his - or was it her? - silhouette shrouded by the sun. "Nnngh." His tongue was too swollen to speak properly but his savior seemed to get the message. They flashed a brilliant smile at him and it somehow warmed his heart as much as the potion did.

"Don't try to speak – let the potion do its work. Don't worry, they'll work. I had… a good friend of mine brew them herself. I think she puts too stock into butterfly wings myself, but once you get past that taste, you'll find out they do the job."

What? Leifr hadn't got a word out of what they were saying. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to get rid of the fuzziness in his vision. There was a nagging feeling in the back of his head that told him something was wrong with the picture. There was something he was forgetting, something important. If the stranger knew, they weren't telling - and Leifr's throat was too swollen for him to speak.

"That was a big fight, eh? I'm surprised you're even alive - I think you should count yourself lucky! I mean, I saw that giant hit you. I know what you're feeling."

They clicked their tongue sympathetically and Leifr was strangely reminded of a mother hen.

"Still, giants don't normally act this way. I wonder what set him off? Hmm... oh! Your village is coming. I can see them."

Mralki? The guards?

"They'll be able to take care of you. Here," they pulled out various vials, "you'll need them more than I do." They seemed to hesitate before unbelting a sword and placing it on the ground alongside the potions. Leifr blinked slowly as the world grew slowly back into focus. It was then he remembered his parents, along with Sissel and Britte. As his savior turned to quickly leave, Leifr used all of his remaining energy to grab onto the hem of their cloak.

"...Were there any other survivors?"

They paused, before dipping their head. "I'm sorry. Sovngarde takes care of your friends now… I need to go. Please. Your village, if they saw me, well let's just say that there would be complications." And with that sorrowful note, they were gone - as if they were never there in the first place. Leifr dropped his head back and stared at the sky. It was as he had suspected. He had been too late to save anybody. Unable to stem back the tears any longer, Leifr waited for the villagers to come.

It didn't take long and soon Mralki's concerned face swam into view. "Leifr! Can you hear me? By the Divines, man! You... you did it! The giant is dead!" Disorientated, Leifr groggily got up to his feet, helped by the innkeeper. The shouts of the gathered villagers appraised him. "Leifr!" "By the gods... I can't believe you did it!" "You slayed the giant!" "Giantslayer!" "Leifr the Giantslayer!" Perhaps it was his initial need for adventure or a massive lapse in judgement - either way, Leifr nodded and grunted weakly to the crowd.

"My father... mother? Sissel? Britte?"

Mralki paled, before pointing hastily towards a group of solemn guards removing... pieces from the ruined farmhouse. A bloodied dress tattered under the sheet the guards had valiantly tried to use to cover up the gore. A shuddering weep alerted Leifr to look over his shoulder to find Lemkil draped over the ground. Whether he cried for his farm or his daughter, Leifr did not know. He preferred to think that the man had found the appreciation for his daughters that he seemed to had lost in life.

There was plenty of song that night but Leifr had excused himself early in the night. Mralki had insisted on him staying at the inn and he had been too exhausted to argue. The gentle murmurs and clinking of the cutlery below helped ease him to bed; the familiar sounds almost convinced Leifr that nothing had changed. But the potions and sword that lay beside the nightstand told him otherwise and Leifr knew that it was no good to pretend. That didn't mean he had to dwell on things tonight - with a swig of a bottle, he closed his eyes and let restless sleep overtake him.

This time, he gladly accepted the blackness that blanked out his mind.


	3. New Beginnings

Sun's Dusk had gone and passed a few weeks ago. The frost was beginning to settle in; the winds carried whispers of winter which filled in the empty corners of Leifr's shack. He had all but recovered from the incident with the giant - physically, at any rate. The giant had ripped open a hole inside of him in the shape of his parents and Leifr wasn't sure that anything would ever plug the void. Work didn't seem to do it - the potatoes lay under the hard-packed dirt, weeks past their prime. His hoe had been ditched outside since the day of the attack and the metal blade was discoloured bloody copper with a heavy coat of rust. Leifr knew if his parents were around to witness his apathy that he'd be beaten and some days, when the wheat withered and fed the insects, he could swear that he could almost hear their lectures. That in itself was as much a reason as to why he let his father's legacy rot away.

In his dreams, Leifr was able to see the blurry faces of his parents but never once was he able to talk to them. The moment he realized he was in a dream was always when he woke up and although he couldn't remember exactly what he was about to say, his heart would always throb painfully in the mornings. In this way, sleep was only a temporary solution and anyway, Leifr found out that too much sleep would grant him a splitting head-ache. Food and drink remained plenty in his house -as his father had a habit of stocking up the larders- but it was a necessity that Leifr would often ignore until his stomach felt worse than his mind.

The event that had transpired took up much of his thoughts but try as he might, Leifr wasn't able to come up with a clear timeline of what had happened. It was all a blurred memory; a giant mash of fear and anger. He would have forgot about his saviour if it hadn't been for the potions and sword that they had left behind - luckily for Leifr, no one had seen fit to question him about them. The bottles were unlabeled and Leifr didn't dare try them out in case they contained something malicious. The sword was of unusual make. Its steel blade was midnight-black and the handle was carved out of smooth wood. A weapon that Leifr would have dreamed of owning in happier days that now lay discarded besides his nightstand. In the days that passed, his tale of defeating the giant had grown from the humble 'one for one' story to Leifr single-handily slaying the beast with a single shot between its eyes.

Mralki had checked up on him a few days into his solitude but had since stopped - he had his own inn to worry about. Besides a visit from the village head, Rorik, who had transferred ownership of the farm to Leifr's name, he had been left alone to his own devices. The meager sack of gold that was his inheritance laid abandoned on the floor; the note from the Jarl had been discarded in a similar fashion. With no friends and no neighbours to talk to -not that he would have been receptive to their advances- Leifr slowly grew used to becoming the local hermit. Once or twice he gleaned some sick pleasure from denying Lemkil shelter in his home but he always felt worse afterwards when he spied his neighbour attempting to rebuild his house; always alone.

* * *

When Evening Star arrived, Leifr found the chill breeze to his liking. Even with Rorikstead's almost magical prosperity, there was a nice crunch to the soil wherever the villagers walked. Some days, they would wake up to find a small film of ice covering puddles on the road - they were lucky that this was the extent of Skyrim's cruelty. It was a common joke born out of pity for the wretches up North, that their beard's beards wouldn't have enough hair to keep them warm.

Still, Rorikstead had moved on from the disaster and hard feelings were melted with the upcoming festivities. The New Life Festival, held on the 25th of Evening Star, was rapidly approaching the village and preparations had already begun a week before. They bustled about like ants, baking pies and cakes and brushing up their fine clothes. Leifr watched the proceedings in disinterest and even rolled his eyes when Rorik declared he had hired a travelling troupe of bards to come play. Banners went up, torches were lit, and generosity managed to join even the worst of enemies to become acquaintances - if not friends.

The day before the festival, it seemed that the villagers had finally remembered the lad left behind in time - Leifr. It was at cock-call they pounded on his door before finally breaking in. Leifr had the look of a dead man all wrapped up in his sheets like a draugr. However, not even his filthy hair could deter the jolly mood of the villagers and after a few seconds of hesitation, they bore Leifr out to wash and trim his greasy locks and to otherwise get him cleaned up.

"Stop it," Leifr had said. "Just leave me alone. Mralki, this is none of your business - what do you mean it's time? Time for what?"

Leifr's protests were weak and in vain and soon enough he found himself dressed in new clothes that smelled slightly of starch. His teeth had been brushed and his hair was pulled back into a clean braid that kept it out of his eyes. All in all, Leifr looked like a new man - reborn again save for the dull expression he carried. Although he had tried to retreat back into his house for the night, Mralki had dragged him back to the inn, seemingly determined not to let him fall back into his stupor. There, Leifr spent the night listening to the old innkeeper's complaints that Erik had not found the time nor interest to come back to the village for the festival. Erik, he had said, was a foolish boy who had let his mercenary work go to his head. He had gone traipsing off with strange women and had never felt the need to contact his father since, only popping in from time to time to pick up a few supplies. Leifr only nodded and grunted in agreement; his earlier jealousy of Erik's life replaced with general apathy.

It was late when he finally let sleep take him into her gentle arms.

 _His dreams were plagued again with the faces of his parents, only this time he found himself in the form of a giant. He wielded Erik's sword which was comically small in his hand and was squeezed grotesquely in his armour. Strangest of all was the fact that on top of his monstrous body, Leifr still retained his human head. Only grunts would come out of his mouth when he tried to speak with his father._

 _"Ayarg garag gar!"_

 _He stomped the ground underneath his feet and sent the blurred outline of his mother flying. Horrified, he reached out to grab her only for her to disperse in his grip._

 _"Ayarg garag gar!"_

 _The mist that made up his parent's ethereal bodies rose up, surrounding him, choking him, drowning him until the only thing he could see were their eyes. He screamed then -or tried to- and felt a jerk in his stomach before he hit the ground._

The sheets Mralki had draped over him had somehow tangled themselves around his body and tied themselves around his neck. Leifr gasped for breath and struggled to rip them off. His body felt un-naturally hot and he began to feel his body all over, checking to make sure that he wasn't the monster he had seen in his dreams. Leifr began to feel foolish as he lay back in bed - what would the others say if they found out he was having nightmares at his age? A grown man scared of his own dreams? Leifr allowed a bitter smile to scrawl on his face before he turned over and returned to sleep.

When he woke up, he had no recollection of the night prior besides a red rash on his neck.

* * *

The New Life Festival seemed to be grander and flashier this year than Leifr had recalled. As he walked mindlessly around the stalls he watched the festivities with a hungry eye. Even if it had only replaced his melancholy with a deep longing, it was something. It was a change. The tables were groaning from the weight of all the food that had been piled on top: fruit pies, loaves of fresh-baked bread, cuts of cured meat, jugs of ale, and to top it all off, several glazed suckling pigs with fresh apples in their mouths. It was pure decadence that rivaled the tables at Dragonsreach and for once the villagers could eat just like Jarls. He bumped past a small girl carrying a meat pie in her grubby hands.

' _Merchant's daughter,_ ' he thought to himself. Leifr eyed her as she tripped and fell, sending the food skidding across the floor. To his surprise, she merely laughed before running back to the table for more. Evidently, harvest had been good -it always was, in Rorikstead- and stingy was not a word that the villagers seemed to be familiar with. Travellers came to the village in a steady stream and each one came carrying different kinds of goods - unusual fare from Morrowind, finely cut gems from Markarth, and clothes imported all the way from Cyrodiil. They had faced a dangerous journey in coming to Skyrim -as the land was locked in a vicious civil war, not to mention the dragons flying about- but their appetites seemed to fare no more for the worse; the tables were significantly relieved of their loads by the hungry merchants.

"Oh! Leifr! What a surprise."

 _Rona._  
Leifr wondered when he had seen her last. A farm-girl that lived only a few homesteads away from him, Leifr had never seen her been rude to anybody. They had grown up together, more or less, but had grown a bit distant as they had matured.

"Yeah," he grunted. "Been busy. How're you?"

"Oh, you know." She idly tucked a strand of golden hair behind her ear. Leifr got the feeling that she had grown up in the short while he hadn't seen her. "Anyway, it's so good to see you out again. I felt so horrible, you know, with all the -"

"Just remembered, I promised to help Mralki set the tables. See you, Rona."

"Oh. Well then, I guess I'll see you soon?"

Leifr hastily ducked into the crowd but everywhere he went he was met with familiar face after the other. There was Ennis who offered him a curt nod. Leifr noticed that he was taking special care in corralling his prized goat, Gleda. Then there was Reldith, who clucked her tongue sympathetically at him which made him rather squeamish. Although she had been nothing but kind to him, his father hadn't been fond of the Mer and some of his words had brushed up on Leifr. He quickly excused himself as thoughts of cannibal elves popped up intrusively in his mind.

Aenar, who he'd often lost bets to. Haerdun, Jorunn and Eyja, the merchant triplets. It was a disconcerting experience for Leifr to experience sympathy from those he hadn't even talked to; worse when it was from people he had antagonized in the past. It felt fake and somewhat insulting in a way - but worse than that was the praise he garnered from the crowd.

"Hey - Leifr! It's the Giantslayer! Come, ha-"

"Is it true? I mean, y-"

"Don't look like a warr-"

"Look, Mam, look! There's tha-"

Leifr hurriedly pushed his way into Frostfruit Inn, where he knew Mralki would help usher him away from public view - at least, he hoped.

* * *

The inn was packed full of weary travelers who had journeyed far just to taste the fruits of Rorikstead's fertile soils. Their fur cloaks were matted with dirt and their wares littered the floor so that the wenches would trip and fall. High pitched laughter broke through their rumbling voices and clinking plates every now and then. Rorik himself would have been proud to see and hear the guest's compliments but Leifr had no interest in hearing their comments. All he was after was a nice, quiet room where he could spend the rest of the festivities in peace.

"Mralki," he shouted above the din.

"A minute Leifr, give me a minute. I've got customers to serve."

"Damn it," he muttered under his breath. He made his way over to the bar before seating himself in an old stool next to an elf and two traders. The men smoked out of wizened old pipes and spoke in quiet whispers. He rest his head on the polished wood - for some reason, Frostfruit Inn had a homely sort of feeling to it to the point where he could relax even amongst the crowd. He watched as Mralki began to usher the servers out with large trays overflowing with mead and roasts of every kind.

"Good town, this. You from around?"

Leifr could sense the elf trying to initiate a conversation with him but he wasn't in the mood to reciprocate.

"S'alright. Seen better," he mumbled.

"Yeah? You must get around," she took a swig from a stained water-skin which reeked something awful, "but somehow I feel different."

"Right."

"Yeup."

Where was Mralki? Leifr could sense the people's attention slowly being driven towards him as he sat. Their eyes pierced like daggers at his back; a dozen drunken buzzards all hungry for a story he didn't wish to tell. He rubbed his neck nervously as the hair on his arms began to stand up - a sure sign of things about to go downhill.

"Oh sure I know 'im! Why, 'es righ-ova-dere. Shall I get 'im for you? Nice lad, really, I'm sure he'd appreciate some small talk, sure!"

Leifr overheard a bar-wench, Sonje, pointing him out. He cursed her silently and stood up to leave but it was then Mralki slammed a glass on the table, slopping ale everywhere. He sat back down with a flushed face but declined the drink. The last thing he needed was alcohol to enhance his nightmares which were sure to come tonight.

"So... what's up, Leifr?"

"Nothing. You got a room?"

"Sorry, lad. You know how it is near holidays," he shrugged and took a swig of his own, "inn's close to burst. I suppose it's good for business - least I get enough coin from travelers."

Leifr sighed. Although he hadn't enjoyed the festival as much as he had when he was younger, he wasn't looking forwards to spending his night in his drafty shack. The noise had helped distract him and Leifr found that it was comforting to listen to people speak - just so long as it wasn't about himself.

"Look, Leifr. I know it's a hard time for you right now... with your parents gone and all," Mralki spoke quickly, as if scared he would offend him in some way, "but it's good to have you out again, you know?"

"Mmm."

"I'm serious, Leifr. You've always been close to my son - I don't like seeing you hurt like this. Being alone - it's not good for the spirit."

Mralki paused and when it became clear that Leifr had resigned himself to his lecture, he carried on.

"I know what you're going through, lad. My wife, Anja, left me when Erik was just a babe. It was the darkest days of my life," he spoke moodily before downing his tankard, "truly, it was. A man can only be as strong as his convictions and back then - everything I believed in, every single one of the Divines had failed to keep my wife safe. I was a right wreck then. Even when I had Erik to take care of... I just couldn't."

"I remember waking once, just to stoke the fire. And you know what?" Mralki carried on without a hitch - he knew Leifr wouldn't ask. "The damn thing had been out for days and I'd never noticed. Thought I'd lost Erik - gods, he was cold. And even then, even after all I put her baby through, I just couldn't care enough to do anything else. You want to know how I got past that? Friends, Leifr, friends. I owe everything to Rorik - he managed to get my head on straight alright. So," Mralki gripped Leifr's hand, "don't try to hold the world on your shoulders. You need help, just reach out - you got it?"

"Got it." His voice was slightly strained as if he were holding back a dry sob. What the kindly inn-keeper had seemed to forget was the fact that Leifr had wanted to reach out - he just couldn't. It was as if a spell hung over his head; a smothering cloud that surrounded him everytime he tried to break out of his grief.

Mralki coughed and pat his back awkwardly. It was as if he knew Leifr was about to cry and to save him the shame of public weeping, he quickly switched subjects to one less emotional. Judging from his excited tone, it had been something he had meant to show Leifr for days. "By the way, take a look at this. A message from our Jarl himself. Thought you'd be interested."

With that, he left Leifr alone to browse over the scrunched up note - after all, he was an innkeeper and tonight was a festival to remember.

Leifr unfolded the paper and read:

 ** _By order of Jarl Balgruuf:_**

 ** _To all able bodied men and women of Whiterun Hold. The giants located at Bleakwind Basin have been harassing and attacking citizens and visitors._**

 ** _A reward will be offered to anyone who kills them._**

 ** _-Proventus Avenicci_**

"Fuck me," Leifr whispered. Even Mralki, who had no doubt seen the potions and sword laying next to him, believed that he had killed the giant. Or was he giving him a way out? A way to focus his anger on the monsters that had attacked his family? Though Leifr had no true experience fighting giants he very quickly began to imagine himself taking on Bleakwind Basin. Dashing in and out between a giant's legs before bleeding them out through a cut in their ankles. His heart beat faster and his arms felt weak even though he hadn't moved from his stool - his imagination was just too vivid. Wiping his palms on his pants, Leifr stuffed the bounty note in his pocket before he raced home.

He spent the rest of the night reading and re-reading the missive and changing his mind with every line that he read. He had heard of bounty hunters before, men and women who killed wanted criminals for coin. Groups like the Companions, who were mighty warriors for hire. Leifr knew of rat-catchers and wolf-hunters; it was no long stretch to think to giant-hunters. It was so simple - how had not thought of it before? He heard the celebrations slowly die down as the moon came ever closer to the ground - Leifr missed the gift exchanges that would no doubt be happening now. He wondered briefly if anyone was looking for him, perhaps with a parcel meant exclusively for himself, perhaps Rona who wasn't so bad to him - he blushed and was glad that she wasn't there to read his mind then.

When dawn broke the night at last -like an egg filled with paints had cracked across the twilight canvas leaking rays of purple, yellow, orange, and red- Leifr had finally settled on a decision. His eyes were bloodshot from staying up but for the first time in many weeks, a smile was stamped firmly on his tired face. Not only had he decided to go to Bleakwind Basin but he had also avoided his nightmares for one night. It was a start.

Leifr had strapped on the sword the stranger had given him and at once was filled with a sense of purpose. It was quite a different experience from rushing a giant unprepared to having a bag full of potions and a sharp blade - Leifr felt strong, stronger than he had in weeks. His anger had been honed as much as his sword and he directed it at the monsters who had broken his family apart - the giants.

"Mother, Father, Sissel, and Britte," he recanted out loud, "so that's four people it took from me. Four lives for four giants, d'you think that's fair?"

The silence that followed was all the answers he needed. Leifr grabbed his pack -he had planned carefully and stocked it with the potions, blankets, a shaving kit, a few candlesticks, a waterskin, a flint, and a small pouch of coins- and left for the world outside. He could pick up food from the feast's leftovers and there was a spring that he knew of close by, which he could use to wash up and fill his waterskin.

"Good-bye, Father. Mother. I'll always love you even if I never said it much, you know that? I'm sorry I didn't take care of your farm -I know how much it meant to you- but I'm going now. I'll come back in a few weeks, if everything goes alright, okay? And Sissel - I don't know if you can hear me now but you'll always be my sister. Britte can be too, I guess. She wasn't all that bad, was she?"

The words came pouring out his mouth before he could stop them - but he didn't care. A defiant voice rose up in his head. _Let them hear me,_ it spoke _, let them see. I don't care. They hadn't given a shit about him before the festival, hadn't come seen him when he needed them most -_ "I'll be back, I promise!" He shook his head clear of all thoughts, refusing to let himself become the hermit again and with one last look, left.

As Leifr mingled with the hung-over merchants who were now leaving Rorikstead, he picked up a few pieces of bread and cheese before stuffing them in his bag. He refused to look back at his village and instead pre-occupied himself with hiding from the villagers - he was in no mood for tearful farewells. With his sword and cloak covering his head, Leifr looked for all the world just another mercenary.

Which, technically, he was.

 _"This is the adventure you've always wanted, isn't it?"_

Leifr had never once imagined that his dream would become his nightmare.


End file.
